Three Strikes at Taylor's Pool Party

The chlorine hit me before I even saw the water. Taylor's end-of-summer pool party — basically the social event of the season, and I was spending it clutching a Solo cup like it contained the antidote to my social anxiety.

Earlier that morning, I'd presided over a goldfish funeral. My sister's fish, Bubbles, had gone to that great fishbowl in the sky, and she'd made me give this whole eulogy thing. I was still emotionally drained from staring into a toilet bowl at a floaty orange fish while my sister cried over how "he was such a good listener."

Now I was here, watching Jordan from across the pool. Jordan, who played baseball and had those arms that looked like they could definitely open any pickle jar. Jordan, who I'd been lowkey obsessing over since seventh grade health class when we got partnered for the CPR dummy unit.

"You gonna swim or just stand there looking like a background character?" My best friend Chen appeared behind me, already dripping wet. "Jordan's literally looking over here. This is your shot, my dude."

"I can't just talk to him," I protested. "What do I even say? 'Hey, nice batting average last season'? That's literally creepy stalker energy."

Chen rolled their eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. "You're overthinking it. Just be casual. Ask him about baseball, or the pool, or whatever. You're making this weird."

A cannonball splash interrupted us. Jordan surfaced near the ladder, water dripping from his hair like something out of a movie. Our eyes locked for approximately 0.3 seconds before I looked away at the decorative goldfish floating in the nearby pond.

"Whatever," I muttered, feeling my face burn. "I'm just gonna stay in my lane. Jordan's out of my league anyway. I'm benchwarmers, he's varsity starters."

"You're literally pitching a no-hitter against yourself right now," Chen said. "At least try? What's the worst that happens?"

What was the worst? Rejection? Public humiliation? The realization that maybe I'd built up this whole thing in my head and Jordan was just... a guy who played baseball and happened to exist?

The goldfish funeral replayed in my mind. At least Bubbles had lived a full life. What had I done? Watched Jordan from afar for three years like the world's most dedicated spectator?

I took a breath and headed toward the pool ladder. Time to either strike out or finally get in the game.